


Beastly

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, No Angst, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Albus woke from his nap to find his flat shaking, a storm raging outside, and his boyfriend standing in the kitchen with his hands outstretched, holding a new friend.The Pygmy Puff was pretty small, and it did look a bit like it was still trembling, but even though Albus wasn’t completely heartless, he was still reluctant to show sympathy.Scorpius would see it as a weakness, and he would pounce, and soon they’d have a small army of pets living in their flat.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	Beastly

**Author's Note:**

> Mornings are probably not the best time to post, but I'm sure it's fine! Considering I'm about to try my hand at some intense gothic horror, I thought I'd better ply everyone with fluff first. So this is literally just soft idiots being soft idiots, and rescuing a pet together. I did write it for Autumn Funfair on a Fanfiction forum, so if you see it posted there, it's me!

An awful rattling sound woke Albus up. He jerked up in bed, still hazy from an impromptu nap, and flailed about until the sheets finally abandoned their grip on his ankles. It took a minute to realise why he felt so unsettled, and why his heart was running like a train; when it did click, Albus groaned and pulled himself out of bed, heading for the living room. 

The whole flat, and everything in it, was shaking. 

There had been whispers of a storm all week, but it seemed as though the weather had finally cracked under the pressure. Albus turned the corner, rubbing his eyes, and swore violently when he registered the scene that greeted him. Sheets of parchment were swirling in the air, caught in the wave of wind howling through the open window. Albus had only opened it for a minute or two to let the smoke out from some burned toast, trying not to set off the fire alarm, but he must have forgotten to shut it before he collapsed in bed, succumbing to the siren call of sleep.

Albus glanced at the clock, wincing. Scorpius was going to be home any minute now, and half his work was floating around in the air; it was possible that some of it was out in the streets, or up in the sky, having a grand old time while Albus panicked enough to forget that he was a Wizard, and that he owned a wand.

A minute or two later, and the papers had been summoned into a neat pile in the nearest drawer, the windows had been barred shut, and the curtains had been drawn. Albus flicked his wand at the kettle just as the front door opened, and the largest, fluffiest coat in the world ambled in. 

“You look like a walking, talking rug in that thing,” Albus said. “Like something they’d hang on the walls in a winter cabin.”

Scorpius craned his neck to glare at him over his collar. “At least I’m nice and warm! Good evening to you, too, Al. Yes, I have had a busy and stressful day, thank you so much for asking.”

What followed was a lot of squirming as Scorpius attempted to get his coat off without admitting to how awkwardly large the damn thing was. Albus took pity on him, strolling over to place a kiss against his temple, halting his wriggling momentarily. 

“I’ll make tea,” Albus said. “Kettle’s already on, and we’ve got leftovers from last night.”

Scorpius turned his head enough to capture his mouth in a kiss. His lips were cold from the harsh wind, and slightly chapped as winter drew nearer, but Albus didn't mind. The kiss soon warmed up. 

“Sounds fantastic,” Scorpius admitted. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Uh-huh. Shedding all those layers of fur takes a while.”

Scorpius made a rude noise, but Albus darted off into the kitchen before he could retaliate with some fancy, light-hearted Hex or snooty insult. He busied himself with the kettle, pouring a frankly obscene amount of milk into Scorpius’s tea, until it was more froth than caffeine. When he heard Scorpius shuffle into the kitchen, he turned to give him a smile, only to arch an eyebrow when he saw the way he was standing. 

There was nothing all that off about it, except for the way he held his hands out in front of him, cupping them together. It looked almost like he had a bug in there. 

“Do you want green beans or carrots with the shepherd's pie?”

Scorpius sighed happily. “Both. All of the options? Everything we have in the fridge, please.”

A little squeak came from inside Scorpius’s cupped hands. Albus stared at it suspiciously, lowering the teaspoon. Scorpius simply looked at him, the picture of innocence. 

“Something wrong?” Scorpius asked. 

Another little squeak erupted from between his clasped fingers. 

“Your hands need oiling,” Albus said. “What’s in there? If it’s another Wheezes product, you can sleep out in the hallway. I think my skin’s still glittery in the right light after that bed bomb.”

“I really don't know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re literally holding it out to me,” Albus pointed out. “This must be what cat-owners feel like. Why even walk in here if you don't want me to know what you’ve got?”

Scorpius slumped, sighing. “I was hoping I could ease you into it before you asked questions, but I forgot how straight-forward you are. Just promise me you’ll consider it before you say no.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” 

By way of explanation, Scorpius let his hands fall open. There, cupped in his palms, was a small, buttercup-yellow Pygmy Puff. 

“No,” Albus said. 

“Oh, Al!” Scorpius pulled the little beast closer to his chest. “You can’t say no! I found the poor thing in a cardboard box down the road, and it was all cold and shivering. I think somebody must have taken the rest of them and left her behind, since she’s obviously the runt of the litter.”

The Pygmy Puff was pretty small, and it did look a bit like it was still trembling, but even though Albus wasn’t completely heartless, he was still reluctant to show sympathy. Scorpius would see it as a weakness, and he would pounce, and soon they’d have a small army of pets living in their flat. There was no stopping Scorpius when he wanted to help someone. He was far too kind for his own good, and usually that kindness was the very reason that Albus loved him so much, but sometimes it backfired in their face. 

“If you rescue one pet, you’ll want to rescue every single pet you find,” Albus pointed out. “It’s going to snowball, and eventually we’ll be the ones in an alleyway, cold and shivering. We’re not allowed pets in this flat, Scorp.” 

He thought that was going to be the end of it, but Scorpius perked up, a slightly sly look on his face. 

“Actually, I already checked with the landlord,” Scorpius explained. “He was leaving as I was coming in, and I told him it was part of my job. He doesn’t care enough to ask any questions, so as long as it’s just the one pet, he said it was fine…” 

“Scorpius,” Albus said, with a growing scowl.

“I was thinking we could name her buttercup, since that’s kind of what colour she is, don't you think?” Scorpius proffered the Pygmy Puff like an offering to the gods, staring hopefully at him. “Or maybe she’s more of a daffodil colour?”

“Those are all the same yellow colour,” Albus said, rolling his eyes and going back to the tea, which had cooled considerably. “Just call her dandelion and be done with it, since you’re gonna keep her whether I like it or not.”

He heard Scorpius huff behind him. “Dandelions are weeds. We can’t call her a weed.”

“We don't have to call her anything if we put her back outside.”

“I know you don't mean that.” Scorpius shuffled up behind him and placed a placating kiss on the back of his neck. “I promise it won’t be for long, okay? I’ll look at re-homing her over the weekend, I just didn't want to leave her out in all this wind. She’s so small, I think she might blow away.”

It was pretty windy outside. Albus glanced at the kitchen window, lashed with rain, and found his restraint crumbling. It had never been iron-clad restraint anyway, not where Scorpius was concerned. He groaned, and turned away from the tea to give Scorpius a proper kiss; it was kind of hard, since Scorpius wouldn’t stop grinning triumphantly against his mouth. 

“If you’re not going to kiss me properly, then bugger off,” Albus said, drawing back with a disgruntled, scrunched up expression. “Put a tracking spell on her before you let her loose, so you don't lose her, and I’ll see if we’ve got anything that Pygmy Puffs can eat. You promise we’re not going to keep her?”

Scorpius crossed a hand over his heart, and gleefully plopped the Pygmy Puff into Albus’s hands. He fumbled slightly, panic rushing through him, and held his hands out stiffly away from his body. The fluff felt very soft under his fingers, and he was careful not to squeeze her too hard.

“Aww,” Scorpius cooed. “I think Buttercup likes you.”

Albus wasn’t so sure. The Pygmy Puff might have been a sweet yellow colour, and soft to the touch, and she might have had nice, brown eyes, like little acorns, but they were full of intent. Devious intent. The two of them sized each other up warily. 

The Pygmy Puff seemed to inflate suddenly, rumpling its fur until it was twice its size. It turned thoughtfully to look at Albus’s thumb, pressed lightly against its fluffy cheek, and then sank its teeth sharply into Albus’s finger. 

Albus yelped, yanking his hand away. The Pygmy Puff quivered, unbalanced, in the middle of his other palm; Scorpius scooped it up quickly and stepped away from him. 

“Al! You can’t just snatch your hands away like that.”

Albus looked at him incredulously. “Your little beast just attacked me!” 

“She has a name.” 

“She is trying to kill me!” Albus held up his bleeding finger. “Look at that! She’s only been here for ten minutes and I’m already scarred for life.” 

Scorpius snorted. “You’ll be okay. You’re just dramatic.” 

The blood creeping down his finger begged to differ. Scorpius brought the tiny Pygmy Puff close to his cheek and rubbed along the top of her soft, fluffy head, cooing, while Albus stomped off to get a plaster. He wrapped it around his bleeding finger; admittedly, the damage wasn’t that bad, but the only plasters they had in the house were decorated with cartoon Pygmy Puffs, and their cheerful, glazed little eyes only seemed to make the pain triple. 

“He’ll never let me live it down if I heal a tiny scratch,” Albus muttered. “Re-home the thing my arse. He’s going to keep it forever, and it’s going to take over my side of the bed, and I’ll end up having to sleep over at James’s house.” He pulled a face at the sheer notion of it all, and caught sight of his own miserable expression in the mirror, wincing. 

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic. He just didn't like the thought of having to actually be responsible for a tiny living thing that had the potential to be squashed if he didn't look where he was sitting. 

“Now, there’s an idea,” Albus murmured, only to flip off his own reflection a few moments later, horrified at himself. 

When he abandoned his quest for plasters that didn't mock him, he found that Scorpius had put the green beans on to cook, warmed up the tea, and was relaxing on the rug with a long piece of string. Albus felt his heart clench at the sight, and his bad mood softened into something more manageable. It was still windy and pouring with rain outside, but the flat felt like a little piece of quiet, a reprieve from the storm. 

“Good news,” Albus said, cocking his hip against the back of the sofa. “Looks like we won’t have to amputate.” 

“That is good news,” Scorpius said, rolling over to grin at him. “Sorry, by the way. I should have been a bit more sympathetic.”

Albus snorted, vaulting over the back of the sofa to land comfortably in the nest of cushions and blankets they kept on every available surface. He was a creature of comfort, and he liked to have soft things ready at the drop of a hat. James once compared this sofa to being eaten by sentient knitwear, and Albus had to agree, but he didn't think it was a bad thing. 

“It’s just a little cut. She’s got sharp teeth though, for such a tiny puffball.”

Scorpius frowned at him from the rug. 

“What?”

“Buttercup,” Scorpius said. “Not beast or puffball. You have to admit, she is very buttercup coloured.”

She was. She was bumbling gently around near the string in Scorpius’s lax grip, looking faintly intrigued but not all that bothered by it. Her fluffy body was a pale, pretty yellow colour, like a buttercup in a meadow.

“And you have to admit that it’s very suspicious of you to name her, if you’re going to re-home her,” Albus shot back. 

Scorpius went a funny shade of red and rolled over again, re-doubling his efforts to get Buttercup to chase the string. 

“That’s what I thought,” Albus murmured fondly. 

He watched the two of them play about for a bit before finally heaving himself off the sofa to check on dinner. He kicked playfully at Scorpius’s arse as he passed, dodging the swipe to his ankle, and stepping gingerly avoiding the bright-eyed little Pygmy Puff now biting the end of the string. 

“I should probably let her explore a little bit,” Scorpius said, as Albus left the room. His voice was loud enough to float through the open door, even though he lowered it to speak to the Pygmy Puff in a little baby voice. “Do you want to have a look around? Oh, you’re so cute. C’mon, let’s look up here.”

Anywhere ‘up’ sounded like an extraordinarily bad idea, but since Albus’s opinion on pets and puffballs was so unwelcome, he kept his lips pursed and bent down to pull the shepherd’s pie out of the oven. The green beans only needed a minute more, so he busied himself getting plates out of the cupboard, doling out massive scoops of pie and almost dropped the whole fucking lot on the floor when a huge crash rang through the room. 

“No!”

Albus flung down the spoon and darted around the table, skidding into the living room. “The hell was that?”

He found Scorpius over by the empty fireplace, kneeling mournfully amongst the pieces of something; it was so splintered that it was hard to tell what it once was. The Pygmy Puff was perched innocently on the edge of the mantle above the scene of the crime, swaying to her own little tune. 

“She pushed it straight off!” Scorpius exclaimed, picking up one of the green shards. “Oh, it’s completely smashed, and Grandma said it was an antique.”

“So cast a Repairo on it,” Albus said, shrugging. “Stop being dramatic.”

Even though it was an echo of his own earlier words, Scorpius still looked enraged. He shot a glare over his shoulder and hissed, “You can’t cast Repairo on antiques, Al. It ruins the magical signature. Do you know how long this has been around for? It would crumble at the first whisper of foreign magic.”

“What even is it?” Albus asked, frowning at the mess. 

“You know that candlestick that Grandma got me a few birthdays ago? The snake one? She found it in Paris and paid a fortune for it.”

The candlestick in question was a shade of deep grin, with silver trimmings. It was said to have been passed down through Slytherin’s descendants for years, which privately Albus thought was a load of bollocks, even if he would never say so to Scorpius or Narcissa. Malfoy’s could be very touchy about such things, but the truth was, the candlestick was ugly as hell, and Albus hated it. 

“The only antique repair shop I know of got closed down last year,” Scorpius said, prodding one of the pieces. “I’m going to have to throw it out.”

Visions of a life unplagued by that gaudy monstrosity danced before Albus’s eyes, and he didn't bother fighting back a grin. 

“Huh,” Albus said, feeling a bit brighter than before. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind about the Pygmy Puff.”

“What?” Scorpius snapped. 

“Yeah.” Albus grinned at the little yellow puffball, swaying proudly back and forth on the mantle. “Buttercup’s not so bad, really. I guess we can keep the little bugger.”

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether or not to bother cross-posting this, since there's barely any plot and it's just fluff, and I've seen some kinda disheartening opinions floating around online, but then I remembered that I had fun writing it and I do not care what Seasoned Writers say, I am allowed to write something like this if I like! So, I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> (Psst, if you have Halloween-y Prompts you'd like to see during the last bit of October, please sling them my way!)


End file.
